


The Wedding Guest

by goldfishoflove



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, I mean it's pretty depressing, Marriage, Raven's Roost, but it ends on a positive note, but no overt mention, i swear this isn't as depressing as it sounds, implied suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfishoflove/pseuds/goldfishoflove
Summary: “All you have to do,” the coin said, “is bring that gift to the wedding. Maybe, I don't know, wrap it in something nice before you give it to him. Tell him … tell him it's from an old friend who couldn't be there. Oh, shit, which reminds me, we probably shouldn't use our real name for this. There’ll be lots of ears there, and we can't risk anyone repeating it. If anyone asks, you’re, uh … Sildar. Sildar Hallwinter. Yeah. Okay. I’ll leave another message for you one week from today. That should give you plenty of time to get there and back, and then I’ll explain more about how you got here and what to do next. Good luck. Talk to you, uh, talk to you in a week.”





	1. The Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the TFW discord for pouring kerosene on the ember of this idea, and to the beta readers who didn't let me get away with a lesser draft. Your time and insight are precious and I'm so grateful.

Barry stepped through the rift and dismissed his scythe with a wave of his hand. The street was quiet, and he paused for a moment to take in the worn bricks and dusty cobblestones before knocking on the door in front of him. He waited, shifting his weight between his feet, and was about to knock again when the door cracked open.

Magnus blinked at him. “Barry?” He opened the door the rest of the way, but his broad shoulders still blocked the entrance.

“Hey, Mags.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I can't drop in on my old friends?” Barry shrugged. “I brought you something.”

“Oh.” Magnus ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced everywhere except at Barry. “Thanks. I … sorry, Bear, I'd love to see you but … now’s not a good time.”

“I know. That's why I'm here.” Barry realized how that sounded when Magnus raised an eyebrow. “I mean. I wanted to see you today, specifically.”

“Why's that?”

Barry eyed him levelly. “Because spending your anniversary alone fucking sucks.”

Magnus’s eyes snapped to Barry's. They stared at each other for a moment.

“… How’d you know it was today?”

“Can I come in?”

Magnus hesitated, brow knitted in thought. Finally he nodded and stepped back into the entryway.

For all its exterior wear, the house was beautiful. Magnus had been busy. It was clear which rooms he actually used--the kitchen and parlor were warm and lived-in, the formal dining room still dusty--but everything in it was carefully selected, sturdy and mostly handmade.

“Nice place,” Barry said.

“Thanks.” Magnus nodded towards the box in Barry's hand. “What's that?”

“Oh, right. Like I said, I brought you something. It seemed only fair for intruding.” Barry opened the box and slid out a dark brown bottle. Its label was faded, in the way that made it look distinguished instead of questionable.

“Shit.” Magnus read the name of a respected distillery and laughed mirthlessly. “You really do know what today's like.”

“… Of course I do.”

Magnus considered that, gave a curt nod, and turned to pull two tumblers down from a cupboard.

 

They settled in the parlor with the bottle on the coffee table between them. Magnus raised his glass.

“To Julia Burnsides,” he announced.

Barry held his glass up. “To Julia,” he agreed. They drank.

Magnus settled back into the couch with a sigh. “So I guess you heard about it in Wonderland, like the boys. But where’d you get the date?”

Barry swirled his liquor around a few times, gazing at the refracted sunlight on its surface. “I was there,” he said finally.

Magnus froze. “You _what_?”

“I was at your wedding, Magnus. It was about a quarter mile from here, across the iron bridge--” Barry gestured. “--at the gazebo in that enormous park. Kinda had to be, I think half the city was there.”

Magnus turned his head. He had a distant look on his face, as if by squinting just right he could peer through the wall and see the park that had been destroyed eight years before. “Wasn’t because of the crowd,” he said absently. “We did it there because I built that gazebo.”

“Ah.” Barry looked down. “I didn't know. That makes sense.”

Magnus exhaled a long breath. “Well. You should've said something.” He snorted. “That would've gone great. A scary red ghost guy showing up in the middle of the Burnsides-Waxman wedding. I wouldn't even have recognized you.”

Barry shook his head. “It wasn't like that. I was in a body. Hell, I didn’t know who you were either, and it was your wedding.”

“Huh.” Magnus sipped thoughtfully. “Then why were you in Raven’s Roost?”

Barry hesitated. “Are you sure you want to hear this today? I don't mind, but … you know how it ends, Mags.”

Magnus grunted. He held up his glass. “Today,” he said, “is the one day a year I'm allowed to wallow about that.” He tossed back the rest of his whiskey and reached for the bottle.

Barry nodded. “All right.” He took a pensive sip, deciding where to begin.

“So you were half right. I was here before, as a lich. I found you around the end of the revolution--your name got big enough to reach me, basically--so I thought I’d keep an eye on you for a little bit. But then you announced the engagement, and … I mean it wasn't a surprise, after seeing you two together … but it hit me, like you were saying, that I couldn't be there. Not really, not as this creepy specter. And I hated that, because it was _you_ , and you're family, so she was gonna be family too.”

Barry glanced cautiously at Magnus, but his friend’s face was impassive. Barry took a deep breath.

“So I did something stupid.”


	2. Sildar Hallwinter

The man dropped to his knees as he staggered out of the tank, coughing up a strange green fluid. He looked himself over for injuries but seemed to be intact--just some bad knees and a mild headache that got worse when he noticed the indentation around his left ring finger.

When his eyes adjusted to the dim green light, he found himself in a cave. The stone walls and floor were bare except for the glowing tank in the corner and a desk on the far side. As he crouched in the center, confused and rapidly getting cold, a disembodied voice echoed suddenly off the walls.

“Hi.” The voice was deep but unintimidating, its tone matter-of-fact. “I know you're confused right now, and probably kinda chilly. I'm gonna explain everything, but I'll start by telling you there's clothes in the chest on your left. I'll give you a minute to find that.”

He turned his head. There was the chest, a plain oak box without a lock. He scrambled upright and started pulling on the pants and shirt he found inside.

“Okay, so,” the voice continued. “Hopefully by now you've noticed that I sound familiar. I sound like you, in fact, because I am you, about an hour ago. I'm sure you have a lot of questions about that, and I promise you'll understand everything later. But this time we're gonna start with something simple.”

He finished dressing and shrugged a long red robe over his shoulders. It was faded except for a dark circle on the left breast surrounded by a few frayed threads. Not the most practical outerwear, but at least it fit well.

He made his way to the desk and pored over its contents. A map of Faerûn, stained with black circles and scribbled notes, was pinned down between an inkwell, a stack of books, and a handful of dirty rocks. Crumpled papers littered the rest of the surface. He tried to read one, but couldn’t seem to make his eyes focus; his head throbbed until he stopped trying. The only other items were a lumpy package wrapped in plain brown paper and a large metal coin with no markings on it.

“There's a tag on that package,” the voice piped up. It came from the coin. “With a name on it. That man, Magnus Burnsides, is getting married in three days in a city called Raven's Roost. You'll see I've marked it on the map here.”

Indeed, there was a single red circle on the map and a dotted line along the road to what he inferred was the cave he was standing in. They were about two days apart.

“All you have to do,” the coin said, “is bring that gift to the wedding. Maybe, I don't know, wrap it in something nice before you give it to him. Tell him … tell him it's from an old friend who couldn't be there. Oh, shit, which reminds me, we probably shouldn't use our real name for this. There’ll be lots of ears there, and we can't risk anyone repeating it. If anyone asks, you’re, uh … Sildar. Sildar Hallwinter. Yeah. Okay. I’ll leave another message for you one week from today. That should give you plenty of time to get there and back, and then I’ll explain more about how you got here and what to do next. Good luck. Talk to you, uh, talk to you in a week.”

The coin fell silent. Sildar picked it up and turned it over, looking for some way to replay the message, but couldn’t find a mechanism. He considered whether he should trust the recording. It did sound like him, but voices could be faked … couldn’t they? He focused, trying to remember what he knew about magic like that, but thinking about it gave him another headache. Okay, well, trust for now, then, but keep his options open. He turned to the gift.

Sildar unwrapped the package carefully, leaving the paper intact. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this expertly carved wooden decoy with bright painted feathers. Huh. Maybe this Magnus guy was a hunter. At any rate, it seemed harmless enough, and it sounded like the delivery was important to … himself? Might as well do this now and then see what he learned in a week.

An hour later, Sildar was striding through a pine forest. For how weird today was going, it was actually a lovely morning: cool and crisp, with sunshine pouring in between the trees. He’d found a pack in the cave with some basic provisions, a little money, and room for the gift, so his hands were in his pockets as he followed a faint trail to the public highway and turned his feet towards Raven’s Roost.

He’d scarcely been on the road five minutes when he heard the rattle of an approaching cart. It was coming from somewhere behind him, and he veered to walk on the grass and let it by. As the mule passed him, the driver slowed it with a light pull on the reins. Sildar looked over his shoulder to see a stout human woman peering down at him.

“Need a lift, stranger?”

“If you’ve got the space, I wouldn't complain.” Truth be told, he hadn’t been much looking forward to the state of his knees after two days of walking and a night on the ground.

“Hop in.”

Sildar gratefully threw his pack and then himself into the back. There was just enough room for him to stretch out among the tightly packed barrels and crates. He folded his hands behind his head to cushion it, watching the clouds go by and listening to the steady clop of the mule’s hooves. His mind wandered, inventing reasons a man might wind up in a cave without his memories.

“So where are you heading?” the driver called over her shoulder. All he could see of her was curly black hair tied neatly under a bandana.

Sildar looked again at the note scribbled on his delivery. “Raven’s Roost,” he called back. “You?”

“Raven’s Roost!” She sounded delighted. “What brings you to the finest free city in Faerûn?”

Sildar chuckled. “Just a messenger. I’ll be honest, I don’t know the first thing about the place.”

“Well then you’re in luck.” The driver grinned over her shoulder. “You found the best possible tour guide. Care to hop up front?”

She stopped the cart and he came around to the driver’s bench, clambering up to sit next to her. Now that they were side by side, he guessed his amicable host was in her late twenties. She was wearing light leather armor with an emblem he didn’t recognize.

“What’s your name, friend?” she asked, flicking the reins at her mule.

“Uh, Sildar. Sildar Hallwinter.”

“Nice to meet you, Sildar.” She extended a hand. “I'm Julia Waxman.”


	3. Raven's Roost

They made good time, rolling into town the middle of the following day. Even after spending the ride learning the essential history and features of Raven’s Roost, Sildar’s first sight of the massive entry bridge took his breath away. It was easily ten times the width of the road they were traveling on, with a sturdy wooden deck supporting a bustling variety of wagons and carts. He swung around in his seat to gape at the row of carved ravens standing guard on posts along the railing.

Julia watched him out of the corner of her eye. “Well? What do you think?”

“It’s incredible.” Sildar twisted the other way, trying to peer at the far railing through the traffic. “They’re all different, their poses, their faces … okay, I swear that one just winked at me.”

Julia laughed. “Yeah, I always thought the last bird on the left was a little cheeky.”

She steered her cart confidently through the throngs until they reached a second bridge. They passed close enough to the side that Sildar could look across to the other stone pillars the city was built on, and down into the canyon below. As they drove through a residential district, Julia asked, “Where are you staying, Sil?”

“I guess I don’t know yet.” Sildar looked around. “You can drop me anywhere, I’m sure I can find--”

“Nonsense. I know just the place.”

They crossed a third bridge. This one had meticulously wrought iron supports which made a deep thrumming noise as they passed over, like the tolling of a dignified bell. A signpost identified this column as the Craftsman’s Corridor.

Forty-five minutes later, Sildar set down his pack in a tidy bedroom over a bakery. Julia had introduced the baker, Emma, as her older sister, and Sildar to Emma as her friend. After some very polite arguing, Sildar allowed Emma to turn down his money with the promise that he’d take a shift doing dishes. She was in the middle of a huge catering order and happy to have the extra hands. The dough rising and pastries cooling on every surface in her kitchen filled the house with an amazing smell that left Sildar nostalgic for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It made him smile and his heart ache.

The next day, with a comfortable few hours before the wedding was scheduled to begin, Sildar took the gift under his arm and went for a walk. At Emma’s suggestion, he stopped at a tailor’s shop and bought a few coppers' worth of bright fabric and ribbon. The tailor helped him rewrap the package presentably, and when Sildar explained its destination, the old man’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, the Burnsides-Waxman wedding! You should have told me, I’d have given you the trimmings. Well, never mind. I won’t be there, I’m afraid, just too much work to do, but you’ll have no trouble finding it.”

Sildar followed the tailor’s directions to a park near the center of the column. He had expected a building, or at least a fence, but the atmosphere was more like a festival. Guests were clustered around tables or on picnic blankets; only the gazebo in the center was roped off while preparations were underway. Sildar found the table where he could drop off his gift. It wasn’t until he was wandering around afterwards, listening to the general buzz of conversation, that he recalled the names mentioned casually by the tailor: Burnsides, as the coin had told him; and Waxman, like his enthusiastic tour guide.

Sure enough, as the sun set and mage lights flickered on around the park, it was Julia Waxman who approached the gazebo amidst cheering and applause. She had told him about the revolution and a little about her role in it, but it wasn’t until he saw the joyful faces of the gathered company that he understood how important she really was to Raven’s Roost. She laughed as flowers rained down around her and squeezed the outstretched hands of guests sitting near the aisle. But Julia’s eyes shone brightest when they lit on her waiting groom.

Magnus Burnsides turned out to be a brawny human man with a neatly trimmed beard and hair pulled back into a knot. He was wearing the biggest, goofiest grin that Sildar had ever seen, and made no attempt to hide the tears rolling down his face as he watched Julia approach. They clasped their hands together as soon as they were within reach, and once the ceremony began they didn’t take their eyes off one another. Sildar felt elated for them even as his stomach twisted in knots.

He’d never thought of himself as a man easily moved by tender emotion. Sildar was more of a studious type, cautious and reserved. So he was blindsided when hearing two strangers read their vows to each other left him openly weeping. He certainly wasn’t the only one--it seemed like half of the audience had their handkerchiefs out--but it rattled him. Certainly, he wished happiness for these young people who had fought so hard for their city and loved each other so much. But there was sadness there too, a weight in Sildar’s chest that got heavier when he saw how they looked at each other, the gentle way she brushed a tear off his cheek. Something he needed. Something he was missing.

When the ceremony was over he stood alone for a while, just breathing and trying to compose himself.

He ended up lingering at the reception much longer than he’d planned. Emma made sure he sampled the pastries; this was what she’d been baking for all week, of course, and she teased him for not figuring that out sooner. Then there were local wines and ciders to try, then he was a little too drunk to try navigating back to the bakery on unfamiliar streets, and then the music started. Sildar wasn’t much for dancing, but he swayed with tipsy enthusiasm when the band struck up a boisterous melody. Someone took his hand and pulled him into a circle dance. He was surprised by how quickly he picked up the steps.

He only spoke to Magnus once. It was late in the evening, when the families with children had gone home and most of everyone else was deep in their cups. The groom was no exception, but he held it well. He thumped Sildar on the back with carefully restrained strength.

“Well met!” Magnus beamed. “I'm told you’re Jules’s friend, and that makes you my friend.”

Sildar laughed. “I think I got the better end of that deal.” He stuck out a hand. “Sildar Hallwinter.”

Magnus shook it heartily. “Magnus Burnsides. Welcome to Raven’s Roost.”

“Thanks--and, uh, congratulations!” Sildar waved his glass enthusiastically. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Don't I know it.” Magnus glanced over at Julia. She was in the middle of a cluster of people, holding her sides as she bent with laughter. Magnus blinked quickly a few times, and Sildar smiled to see him still misty even as his own heart squeezed in his chest.

 

Sildar woke up late the next morning with a queasy stomach and a head full of cotton. Emma took one look at him when he staggered downstairs and sent him right back up with a cup of coffee and a scone bigger than his fist. He emerged again a couple of hours later.

“Oh, hell, Em,” he said when he saw the kitchen sparkling. “I promised I'd take care of that.”

She waved his protests away. “It was quiet today, I had all the time in the world.”

“Yeah, but--”

Emma held up a hand. “I'm expecting Jules any minute. You help her out tonight, we'll call it square.”

Helping Julia turned out to mean carrying a huge basket full of day-old rolls and other wedding leftovers as they walked around the city at sunset. Sildar and Julia knocked on a few doors, delivering care packages, and stopped to talk with anyone they found sitting on the street. Julia knew most of them already, and everyone knew her. She gave them food, asked about their families, made sure they had somewhere to sleep. The sky glowed orange over the canyon walls.

“Wouldn't have expected you to be working this afternoon,” Sildar remarked as they turned towards home. “Day after your own wedding?”

Julia looked surprised. “This isn't work. This is just life.”

He didn't know what to say to that. They walked across the iron bridge in companionable silence, and their footsteps made it ring like a bell.

 

Sildar didn't forget about the coin, exactly. He just promised to go with Emma and Julia to visit some cousins that he hadn't met at the wedding, and then he felt bad about taking up Emma's spare room for so long and insisted on actually doing the bakery's dishes one night. He made such a mess of it that the next morning she sent him to the counter instead. Sildar was good at that; he was quick with numbers and always polite to the customers.

He was startled to notice when six full days had gone by. He could probably make it back to the cave in time, if he borrowed a horse and rode hard. But how would he explain why he needed to? Could he even find the trail again, the exact spot in the road where he'd first met Julia? Where would the coin send him next?

Sildar let himself worry for one day. Then the opportunity had passed and there was no point in worrying about it any more. He worked in the bakery during the day and walked through the city with Julia at sunset, handing out bread and trading stories from their shops. Once a week he carried the money from the safe to the bank, waiting in line under columns of light from its tall windows. The tellers started greeting him by name.

Sildar and Emma grew closer too. Once or twice she let her eyes linger on his smile, or touched his hand a little longer than she needed to. But she saw the way his brow furrowed when he noticed, and after a few coy weeks she let it rest. In the mornings, before going downstairs, Sildar savored the aroma of fresh bread. He lay in bed and tried to place what it reminded him of until he got a headache.

Weeks expanded into months. Sildar's last day in Raven's Roost arrived as unexpectedly as his first. He was daydreaming behind the counter at the bakery when a sound like thunder shook the ground.

“What the hell was that?!” Emma shouted from the kitchen.

Sildar turned to reply but was interrupted by another roar. He lost his balance as the floor rocked suddenly underneath him. He heard cracking and screaming from the street outside, and had just enough time to wonder, _Earthquake?_ before a third boom ripped the world in half. He felt himself falling, and heard the shriek of metal twisting until it cracked. It echoed in his ears like the dissonant peal of a broken bell.


	4. Death

There was only a moment of darkness.

Then the riptide of memories dragged him under. Candlenights with his parents. That one summer he almost drowned. Late nights at the university, the breakthrough, the press conference, The Hunger--an arc of electricity crackled down his back--the mongooses. The robots. Davenport, Lucretia, Merle, Magnus, Taako, Lup--he was shaking--the duet, _Lup_ , the judges, Lup, Lup, the ritual, the relics, Lup, the _goddamn voidfish_ , _Lup_.

Barry. He was Barry. And he was dead again and Lup was gone and his heart was shattered and everything was lost. Red lightning coiled tight around him.

From the desperate fragments of his mind, a memory bubbled up. A summer day on an empty world. They had spent the morning in a dusty library, the afternoon by the lake. He remembered every moment of that night with her: every whisper, every touch, every curve of her lips in the candlelight. He remembered bliss.

Barry wasn’t calm, but he was still, and the storm of electricity settled. As his vision cleared, he felt a wave of nausea. Massive boulders of natural rock were crammed among the rubble of houses. He had already lost track of his own body, but there were others, so many others. Their spirits were starting to rise up too, white specters surrounding his bright red form. A few looked at him curiously, but most just drifted upwards without turning back.

Sparks flickered between Barry's fingers. Where was he? He'd been carrying something, a package … no, that was a long time ago. A city made of bridges. Raven's Roost. He was in Raven's Roost. Julia.

_Magnus._

No.

No, no, no no no no, please no, not another one. A bolt of lightning lashed from Barry’s arm, incinerating a beam sticking upright out of the wreckage. He couldn’t lose another member of his family, another fragment of hope of making this right. He couldn’t. If Magnus was gone, Barry would lose himself.

Barry spun around, trying to find a landmark, anything to show him where to look. It was gone, everything was gone. The entire pillar had collapsed. What _happened_? He sped through the ruins of the Craftsman’s Corridor. New ghosts were still rising all around him as their battered corpses went cold. Barry shuddered at the realization that some wouldn’t emerge until tomorrow. Or the day after that.

He heard a wail from somewhere close by.

“Hey!” The voice was familiar beneath the unsettling echo of death. “Can you hear me? Can anybody hear me?”

Barry rushed towards the sound, into the valley made by two huge heaps of rubble. A pale ghost was darting in and out through the solid remains of walls. “Hey! Anyone alive in there? Shout if you can, strike whatever you can reach, I’m listening!”

“Julia!” Barry called out.

“Sildar!” Julia spun around. “Help me--oh my god.” He could barely see her face, but he saw her recoil. Barry remembered the shadows of his hands, his glowing red robe.

“Never mind that,” he said. “Julia, is--did you find--” Barry shuddered. Electricity crackled around him.

Julia took a step back. “What’s happening to you?”

Barry shook his head desperately. “I’ll explain later--Jules, please, did you find Magnus?”

“What?” She stared at him. “He’s not here, Sil. He left for Neverwinter two days ago.”

Barry sagged with relief. “Thank god,” he whispered. “Oh, thank god.” He curled his fingers, and slowly the crackles of electricity ceased.

Julia craned her translucent neck to gaze up at the broken bridge and the road beyond. “My poor magpie,” she murmured. She shook her head and looked back at Barry. “Sildar …” She drifted closer. “You … you died too, right? Why aren’t you a ghost?”

“I …” Barry hesitated. “I’m dead, yeah. But I died a long time ago.”

“What?”

Barry turned his head away, thinking. How much should he tell her? “I made a trade,” he said finally. “I died once on purpose so that when I’m dead I can be … this.” He held out his arms, palms open. “It made me a lot more powerful. But it’s hard to control when I’m sad.”

Julia didn’t say anything. After a while she turned her head to look around them, at the rubble and the dust and the ghosts.

“Everyone’s leaving,” she said softly.

All around them, spirits were floating up out of the ruins. Some paused to explore; a few were conversing with their neighbors. One by one, they all eventually drifted upwards into the sky.

Julia and Barry looked up.

It was hard to see amidst the bright white clouds and the sunshine, but between those was a naturally formed interplanar rift--a passage for the departing dead. Death worked differently, Barry knew, in different planar systems. He had tried very hard to spend most of his time in this one alive, but from what he’d observed, this portal would go to the astral plane. The departing spirits could linger there, if they wished, before dissipating completely.

“That looks nice,” Julia said. Barry realized she was right. He felt warm, when he looked at the rift. It tugged gently on him.

“Are you going?” Julia asked.

Barry smiled sadly. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“There are rules. You’re not supposed to do what I did. I’m pretty sure I’m stuck here now.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” Julia looked at Barry and then down. He realized with a start that they were hovering about ten feet above the ground. The rift was pulling them upwards, just like all the other ghosts.

“I--yeah, but I can just--” Barry held out his hands and stopped moving.

Julia, drifting past him, frowned. “Hm.” She held out her hands, and she also stopped. “I can do that too.” She wiggled a little in the air and gradually sank back down to his eye level. “I don’t think it means anything.”

Barry shook his head. “That’s not the point. Even if I can go through that portal, I’d just get locked up on the other side. Like I said, there’s rules, and that means there'll be reapers enforcing them.”

“Well, fuck that, I’ll stick up for you.”

Barry blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” Julia put her spectral hands on her hips. “You’re a good man, Sil, and you're my friend. If someone on the other side of that door wants to lock you up for a mistake you made years ago, they can come through me.”

“Julia …” Barry forced his voice to be calm, the simulacrum of his breathing to stay steady around the lump in his throat. “You don’t even know me. Not really.”

“I don’t know who you used to be. So what?” Julia pursed her lips. “I don’t know who Magnus used to be either, did you know that? Something hurt him pretty bad, I think, before he got to Raven’s Roost. Left some holes in his brain.” She shook her head. “He doesn’t know where he came from anymore, and neither do I, and it doesn’t matter. I know who he is now, and that’s enough. I know you too, Sildar. You’re a good man. Like my husband.”

Barry thought about Magnus alone on the road to Neverwinter. The news would spread fast. He would turn around and find this. Barry balled his hands into fists as a chain of bright red sparks danced down his chest.

Julia’s defiant expression softened. “You said it’s hard to control when you’re sad,” she said quietly. “You’ve been sad this whole time, haven’t you?”

Barry let his head fall forward into a nod. He was grateful for the hood hanging over his face when a line of electricity crackled between his cheekbones. Every day that passed in Raven’s Roost, he had felt the ache of the Lup-shaped hole in his heart. Now that he remembered who that ache was for, it took constant focus to keep despair from tearing him apart. Of course Julia noticed.

“Don’t you want to rest?”

Her question hung in the dusty air.

Barry looked up. The rift hung implacably in the sky. Ghosts were still drifting past them, and each time one entered the portal he felt a glimmer of comfort. Not many chose to linger, he thought. Most disappeared as soon as they crossed over.

Maybe he could disappear too.

It was pulling him again. Barry watched the remaining pillars of Raven’s Roost slide past, blurry in his peripheral vision. Julia stayed with him, hovering upwards no faster than he was letting himself drift. He could still stop, he reminded himself. Would, in a minute. He was just curious about the effect the portal was having on him. Maybe he could see more if he were closer. Maybe he could learn about what happened when the specters went through.

If he disappeared, would he forget?

They were rising past the level of the city now. No one noticed two floating ghosts, one white and one red, as they went by. The broken bridge had been blocked off, but mobs were shouting and crying around the barricade. The far side of town was just as crowded. The road leading out of the city was jammed with people, pack animals, and wagons. They were fleeing, afraid of a second collapse.

A wet chill shivered through Barry. His vision went gray and fuzzy, and he realized they were floating into a cloud. Only when they emerged moments later did he understand how fast they were rising now, how close the rift had gotten. Its warmth was everywhere. He looked down at the road. The wagons were a trail of specks.

His bright lich eyes could just make out a single speck alone, two days’ ride towards Neverwinter.

Barry raised his trembling hands. He stopped rising.

“Julia,” he said in a small voice. “I can’t.”

Julia floated closer to him. “Why?”

“Because they--” His voice cracked. He shook his arms, wishing the pinpricks of electricity would stop. “They need me. Nobody else remembers. I’m the only one left.”

Julia studied the darkness under his hood. “Well,” she said. “If you say so.” She looked up. They were so close to the portal now that he suspected he could stretch out an arm and pass through. “I think it’s time for me to go, though.”

Barry was afraid to follow her gaze, so he kept his eyes on her. “Are you ready?”

Julia looked down at what remained of Raven’s Roost. Her shoulders drooped.

“No,” she sighed. “I’m not. But some things don’t wait until you’re ready.” Julia lifted her head. The light from the rift shone through her, making her glow.

Barry darted his hand out. “Julia.”

“Yes?”

“When you’re over there, if you see--” He stopped. This was stupid. If she did, how would she tell him? They were never going to see each other again.

“If I see who?” Julia asked gently.

Barry took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. “An elf woman. About two hundred. Tall, with golden skin and dark hair and freckles, and a smile like the sun when it burns the fog away. You’ll know. Just tell her …” He faltered. “Tell her I’m still looking. That I’m not giving up.”

Electricity shivered up his legs and along his torso. Julia watched it, watched him, as he struggled to hold himself together.

“Oh, Sil,” she said softly.

Barry bowed his head.

“I’ll tell her,” Julia promised, “if I see her. But I hope you do first.”

Barry shook off sparks. “Thank you.”

“And Sil?”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re staying, will you try to look out for Magnus? He can be a bit … impulsive.”

Barry couldn't help but smile. _Oh, you have no idea._ “I will.”

“Thank you,” said Julia.

And then she was gone.


	5. The Remains

Magnus wasn't hard to find.

He was a salmon thundering upstream, hunched over his horse as they sped past the slow march of refugees from Raven's Roost. Barry only saw him stop once, to trade his mount to a stranger for one that was smaller and older but fresh. Magnus’s jaw was set, and there was a look in his eyes that Barry had never seen before but recognized immediately.

He didn't know.

The casualty reports from passing travelers changed every time. Fifty, two hundred, eighty-five. No one really knew yet how bad it was. No one could tell him the names. Magnus didn't know, and Barry of all people understood: not knowing was agony.

Barry kept pace easily, a brush of magic propelling him as fast as Magnus's sweating horse. He wanted to tell him everything. _She's gone, Mags. She's gone and she was incredible and she offered to fight off Death for someone she just met. She was perfect for you, Magnus, and god, you deserve that. You deserve so much better than what you're about to find._ He kept himself invisible and silent. Magnus wouldn't know him, wouldn’t trust him, and none of it mattered anyway. He couldn't change the truth.

It was dark when they arrived in Raven's Roost. Days after the collapse, the streets were eerily quiet. They rode past the shuttered windows of shops and restaurants, empty parks, the silent bank. Barry remembered it all now, the life he'd briefly made. He had walked these streets every day for months, and it ached to see them desolate. He couldn't imagine how Magnus felt.

It took an hour for Magnus to make his way down to the ruins, following a spiraling trail too narrow to bring the horse. Barry hovered along with him, still invisible, trying not to think about the steep drop to the canyon floor or how long it had been since Magnus had eaten or slept. When he reached the edge of the rubble, Magnus stopped. He turned his head from one side to the other, taking in the carnage, and made no attempt to hide the tears rolling down his face as he climbed into the city's remains.

Barry flickered ahead across the wreckage. He hadn’t lingered long after parting ways with Julia, but he remembered exactly where he found her, between two heaps of debris. He passed through the walls of crumbled buildings, averting his eyes from their contents with a stab of guilt. As unstable as he was, he couldn’t risk feeling that horror and grief.

When he reached the valley in the rubble he slowed down and searched more methodically, floating in a slow spiral until he found what he was looking for. It was covered in small rocks and a thick layer of dirt. A summoned gust of wind cleared both away, and the noise attracted Magnus’s attention, as Barry had hoped. He cast a subtle mage light, just dim enough to pass for the moon.

Magnus crept over the treacherous ground, spreading his weight and bracing against the sudden shifting of rocks. When he saw the light, saw what it was illuminating, he froze. His hands clenched into fists and he staggered with more speed than caution towards the sign for the Hammer and Tongs. Julia’s father’s shop. The Burnsides’ home.

Barry meant to help more, he honestly did. But when Magnus began furiously digging through the rubble burying the shop, an arc of lightning cracked across Barry’s back so loudly that he had to throw his incorporeal self underground to avoid being noticed. When he emerged, Magnus had just broken through a window and dropped into the hollow remains of the building. Barry vibrated with anxiety, needing to be there but paralyzed by the certainty of how dangerous he was right now. Red sparks flickered up his arms.

He didn’t have to wait long.

A howl of loss rang out across the canyon.

Barry crumpled. He rocked in sympathy with Magnus’s pain, making himself small in a vain attempt to hold the tendrils of electricity close to his body. He wished he had arms, a shoulder, anything to lend his friend for comfort, anything to show him he wasn’t alone. But Magnus _was_ alone. And now he knew.

Shame twisted through Barry’s gut. He would have given his immortal life to be that sure that Lup was gone, to see whatever was left of her one last time. Red lightning lashed out around him as cracks spidered through Barry’s self-control. He forgot where he was for a moment, then remembered with the force of a crashing train. Barry trembled when he saw the ground around him black and smoking. He couldn’t feel all this and keep his lich form stable. If he tried to help Magnus any more, he’d be risking them both.

Barry fled.


	6. Surviving

Barry looked up to find Magnus with his face in his hands. His shoulders heaved with sobs. Mired in the recollection of helplessness, Barry blinked at the sunshine streaming through the windows, the soft upholstery under his arm. He dredged his mind out of the ruins of the Craftsman’s Corridor. It was eight years later. He was solid and alive.

Barry thrust his glass down and rushed around the table. “Mags, I’m sorry. I--I just barged in and laid that on you, I’m so sorry, I had no right.” Barry dropped onto the couch beside him and pressed an anxious hand to Magnus’s back.

Magnus silently pulled Barry against his chest, and Barry let his head drop into Magnus’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut. As he felt Magnus shaking around him, the knot in his throat dissolved into tears. He felt selfish; this wasn’t his day, nor his loss. But it was his friend that they were grieving, and for the first time since the fall of Raven’s Roost, Barry allowed himself to sink into that grief. His fingers dug into Magnus’s back, and he felt Magnus’s arms tighten in response.

Barry and Magnus clung to one another and cried.

 

They went for a walk around sunset. Raven’s Roost had never recovered after the attack, and its streets were as bare now as they had been when Barry left. More windows were broken; more paint was chipped. But the orange sky was still beautiful over the canyon.

“You know,” said Magnus, “I always thought that was her. Guiding me to the sign.” His voice was hoarse but his eyes were dry. They ambled around the market column, where tassels on decaying awnings flapped in the evening breeze.

Barry considered that. “If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have known where to look,” he pointed out. “So in a sense, it was.”

“Hmm.” Magnus put his hands in his pockets. They circled around to a footbridge and crossed back to the central column. Barry turned to look at the big stone bank as they went by; its doors were chained, and the tall windows had cobwebs in them. When they rounded a corner, the gnarled stump of the iron bridge was straight ahead. Years of wind and rain had softened the splintered edge of the deck, and the railing was streaked with rust.

They stopped at the foot of the bridge. A fresh layer of dust on the canyon floor smoothed the rocks and debris into a single shapeless mass. Barry’s eyes reflexively sought out the valley in the rubble where he had found Julia searching for survivors, minutes after her own death.

“She was one of a kind,” he murmured. The landscape had changed too much. He looked away.

Magnus smiled. “I’m glad someone else remembers that.”

“Lots of people remember that,” Barry protested. “Most of Raven’s Roost survived.”

“Yeah,” said Magnus, “but you’ll remember forever.” He glanced sidelong at Barry. Magnus wasn’t old by any means, but he wasn’t the bright-eyed youth that Barry had met at IPRE anymore. Crow’s feet decorated the corners of his eyes, and if you looked closely you could see the first threads of silver in his sideburns. Barry’s face had been the same for a hundred years. It was only a matter of time before Magnus aged past him.

“You spend a lot of time in the astral plane these days, don’t you?” Magnus still had his hands in his pockets. He gazed out at the horizon with implausible nonchalance.

Barry shifted his weight between his feet. He’d been waiting for this. “Yeah. I do.”

Magnus looked down. “Is … can you tell me …”

“I’m not really supposed to--um.” Barry folded his arms. He hated that Magnus wouldn’t press him on it, that he wasn’t even turning to watch Barry fight his conscience. There were rules, and they were rules for a reason. The living were almost always better off not knowing.

But Barry, of all people, understood.

“She’s waiting,” he said quietly. Magnus’s head snapped up. Barry turned to meet his eyes, reading the sudden watering, the searching look.

“Is she--I mean, does that--”

“She’s okay. It doesn’t hurt. And she’s patient.” Barry shifted his weight again, tightened his arms. “She wouldn’t want you to hurry, Magnus. And neither would any of the rest of us.”

Magnus blinked at him, then smiled. “I know.” He turned, and as they fell in step back down the road he put his arm around Barry’s shoulders. “I’m not in a hurry. I’m just …" He sighed. "I'm still getting used to that, that's all.”

“Yeah.” Barry relaxed and looped his arm around Magnus’s back. “I get that.”

It was dark when they turned back onto Magnus’s street. A solitary lamp burned in front of his house, the only one whose front door was new and intact.

“I kind of hate that you’re out here by yourself,” Barry admitted. “It’s none of my business, but … I don’t know. It seems so lonely.”

Magnus chuckled. “You didn’t spend the last two years with two roommates.” He stopped in front of the house. “You’re not wrong, though. It does get pretty quiet sometimes.”

Magnus scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll finally get that dog.”


	7. Epilogue

Barry walked on the ghost of grass, translucent gray blades bending under the hem of his robe. He stopped in front of a little cottage and paused to collect himself before knocking on the door.

Moments later, it was thrown open to reveal bright eyes and a familiar smile.

“Barry!” Julia pulled him into a hug. “What took you so long?”

Barry laughed into the embrace. “Hi, Jules. I’m sorry. It’s been a busy, uh, several years.”

“So I've heard. Come in, come in, tell me everything.”

Barry followed her into the cottage. She had built it in the typical style of Raven’s Roost, with exposed beams and rafters that showed off the craftsmanship in the frame. Barry hovered in the kitchen while Julia put the kettle on.

“So you’re the new reaper in town, huh?” she asked.

Barry blinked. “How’d you already know that?”

Julia replied over her shoulder as she spooned tea into the pot. “Astral grapevine. It’s about the only way to get news over here. There’s always a handful of us ghosts waiting around, so I try to go out and talk to the others pretty often. It helps me keep an eye out for newcomers, too. The first few days can be scary, but it’s nothing a cup of tea and an ear won’t fix.”

Barry had to smile. Not even death could keep Julia from being … Julia. “What else have you heard?” he asked.

She turned and leaned back against the counter. “They say there’s another new reaper too. Red robe like you, pointy ears, dark hair …” Julia trailed off, her voice cautious. “Is it true? Did you--?”

Warmth swelled in Barry’s heart and spread to his face unbidden. He saw Julia mirroring his grin before he could get the words out. “Yeah. I found her. Or she found me, or something, I don’t know. She’s back.”

“Good.” Julia met Barry’s eyes and he was touched by the relief he saw there. “Barry, I’m so glad.”

“Thank you.” He smiled and looked down. “Me too.”

 

They brought their tea into the sitting room. Like everyone else in existence, Julia had heard the story of the Starblaster crew’s one hundred year journey, but she knew only fragments of gossip about the Day of Story and Song. Barry filled her in as best he could. They skirted around the obvious until Julia poured their second cups and sat back.

“So,” she said. “How’s he doing?”

Barry exhaled slowly. “He’s all right. Adjusting.” He told her about the house that was almost entirely restored now, and the pair of scottish deerhounds who trotted beside Magnus on walks. He was already talking about getting another dog.

Julia laughed when she heard that. “He’s going to end up with ten of them if he’s not careful.”

“I think that might be the plan, yeah.”

Julia shook her head fondly. Barry held his cup between his hands, watching the steam rise in curls.

“He misses you a lot,” he said. “He doesn’t usually ask after you, because he knows I’m not supposed to tell him. But he always wants to.”

Julia nodded. She took a slow sip of tea and stared into the cup for a while.

“Well,” she said finally. “If he’s going to stick around, he’s going to have to move on eventually.”

Barry blinked. Julia’s face was carefully neutral. She was better at hiding her feelings than Magnus was, but that wasn’t saying much.

“He won’t,” Barry said simply.

Julia raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate that, Barry, but come on. He’s got a lot of years ahead of him.”

“He’s got a lot of years behind him, too.” Barry set his cup down and furrowed his brow, grasping for words. “If it was anyone else, yeah, I’d agree with you. People grow, their desires change, and that’s all right and healthy, but …” He looked down at his hands. In his astral form, they were exactly the same as when he and Lup became liches thirty years ago. A few wrinkles. That one scratch on his finger. His wedding ring, back in its place.

“But if you get enough time to think,” Barry said, “eventually … you really can be sure of what you want. Most people never get there. It just takes too long, there’s too much else in life to pay attention to, and then your time is up. Even if you do last long enough to figure out what you want … what are the odds that you ever actually find it?”

Barry folded his hands together and looked up. “Magnus has been alive for a hundred and thirty-three years, Jules. He knows what he wants, and he knows exactly how lucky he is to have had it. He’s not going to forget. Not ever.”

Julia and Barry gazed at each other in silence.

“Well,” she said eventually, nodding towards Barry’s ring, “you would know a thing or two about that, I suppose.”

“Yep.” Barry grinned and lifted his cup. “Me and Mags, the luckiest guys in a hundred universes.”

Julia laughed. “What does that make Lup and me?”

Barry thought of a couple answers to that and smirked across his tea instead of saying any of them. Julia snorted.

“When do I get to meet that lady, anyway?”

“Mm!” Barry swallowed a mouthful of tea. “Whenever you want, I’m sure she’d love to.”

“Well, bring her around next time you come, then.”

“I will. And sooner this time, I promise.”

“Good.” Julia winked. “Don’t keep me waiting.”


End file.
